Goodbye, Grand Rapids

Tonight is the last night I will sleep in my apartment in Grand Rapids.  For the foreseeable future, it is the last night I will stay in GR as a resident, and not someone’s guest.  This is a sad night for me.  This is the place I became an adult.  I have lived here for 3/4 of my adult life.  I went to Calvin College here.  I went to Calvin Theological Seminary here.  I had my first call at Church of the Servant here.  Living in Grand Rapids has shaped me in so many ways. 
People love to hate Grand Rapids; some call it “bland rapids.”  It is not as big or as cosmopolitan as New York or Chicago.  But Grand Rapids has its own charm.  There are lots of wonderful places and things to do in Grand Rapids.  Let me share a few of my favorites with you:

• Calvin College—where I learned how to be a thinking Christian mindful of the broader world
• Oakdale Park CRC—the church I attended while I was at Calvin
• Ice skating at Rosa Park circle
• Little Africa Ethiopian restaurant—a favorite place my friends would go when we were at Calvin
• $5 student tickets to the Grand Rapids Symphony
• Calvin Theological Seminary—where I did the formal education part of becoming a pastor
• Monroe Community Church—the church that loved me through seminary
• Kava House
• Art Prize—most interesting and fun thing that has started in GR recently
• The Green Well—a favorite with some of my seminary-era friends
• Peking Wok (which has very sadly closed)
• Eerdman’s Bookstore—they have a great selection of discount Eerdman's books
• Concerts at Calvin College—why didn’t I go to more when I was a student?  They have really interesting artists
• The Festival of Faith and Writing—so many wonderful readers and writers gathered together
• Church of the Servant—where I became a pastor
• Summer concerts at the Fredrik Meijer Gardens Amphitheater
• Bethany Refugee Services and the hundreds of refugees that are resettled here every year
• Baker Books and Icons Coffee—wonderful bookstore and coffee shop really close to my house
• Kentwood Public Library

And of course, the people are such an important part of Grand Rapids and my experience here.  Professors and friends from Calvin College.  Professors, staff, and students at Calvin Seminary, where I was enfolded into community.  Other wonderful friends that I made during my seminary days.  Colleagues and congregants at Church of the Servant.  I wouldn’t be who I am without all of you all.
I don’t know where I am going to land in the future, but I am thankful for the ways Grand Rapids has shaped me, and I am excited to take that with me to my unknown destination.  Thanks, Grand Rapids.  Its been great!  

Sunday Afternoon Prayer: Great is Thy Faithfulness

This weekend my family is celebrating my maternal grandfather’s 90th birthday.  My grandpa has been following Jesus for his whole life and would be the first to say that God has been faithful.  Life has not been without challenges, but God has been with Grandpa and used him to bless many people.

Loving and Faithful God,
For keeping a child of your covenant, baptized when he was an infant, safe in your hands,
Great is thy faithfulness.
For his parents who loved him and taught him about you,
Great is thy faithfulness.
For keeping Grandpa safe while he was deployed in the Navy,
Great is thy faithfulness.
For giving him a beautiful wife who loved him until her dying day,
Great is thy faithfulness.
For three children that he loved and supported (and is still very willing to help weed gardens or repair their homes),
Great is thy faithfulness.
For helping him to become a great teacher and principal,
Great is thy faithfulness.
For blessing him with grandchildren—both adopted and biological—that he loves deeply,
Great is thy faithfulness.
For saving his life from cancer,
Great is thy faithfulness.
For Grandpa and Grandma’s consistency at showing up at their grandkids events—church programs, piano recitals, sports games, etc.,
Great is thy faithfulness.
For the hours of volunteer service at Desert Christian High School, World Renew (formerly CRWRC) Disaster Response Services, Bibles for Mexico Thrift Stores, and other places,
Great is thy faithfulness.
For the love he shows his great-grandchildren through creating toys and babysitting,
Great is thy faithfulness.
For the love of and commitment to the church (there are few times I’ve heard him complain about it!) that he demonstrates to all of us,
Great is thy faithfulness.
For 90 years of following you,
Great is thy faithfulness.
Great is thy faithfulness! Great is thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
all I have needed thy hand hath provided.
Great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Personal photo of my grandpa and me at my ordination, January 2012.

On My New Found Love of Poetry

When I was in seminary, I heard Eugene Peterson speak at the Festival of Faith and Writing.  He was asked what advice he would give to young pastors.  I think he had three pieces of advice, but I only remember two.  Those two have stuck with me, though: learn Biblical languages really well and pick a few poets to read deeply.  I inwardly groaned at the first and was intrigued by the second.  Peterson said that as people who use language extensively, pastors should read poetry to increase your grasp of how English works.  Poets are the people who play with language—vocabulary choices, rhythm, stress, imagery, metaphor, punctuation.  He suggested picking 3-4 poets who you read regularly and get to know well.  I haven’t been as intentional as he about sticking with certain poets, but I have found myself reading poetry more in the last two years of my life than any time before.
    
Before this point in my life I have not been a huge poetry fan.  I didn’t actively dislike it, but with few exceptions I didn’t love it, either.  I am not the best poetry reader and I’m a worse poetry writer.  I did read enough poetry when I was an English major to get a sense of styles I am drawn to and those I’m not (lets just say that T.S. Eliot will never be one of the 3-4 poets I dwell one).

So why did I start reading more poetry once I became a pastor?  I don’t think it was just because Eugene Peterson said I should or the inner English major who always wished I was better with poetry.  In the “Author Q & A” of Lauren Winner’s Still: Notes on a Mid-life Faith Crisis she talks about why she reads and writes about poetry.  Winner bases her answer on an observation by Richard Rohr that our spiritual lives have two halves—the season where you build a spiritual identity and the season where you face crisis and come to know God in a deeper way.  “Rohr says that in the second half of your spiritual life you may find yourself reading a lot of poetry.  Maybe, before, you read dogmatics or self-help how-tos or narrative history.  Before, poetry may have seemed elusive and loopy.  In the second of Rohr’s two halves, you like the space that poetry offers” (pg. 205-206). 

In the messiness of being a pastor, I like that space poetry offers.  Every day I face questions and ambiguities about faith and life.  There are the questions that inevitably come with reading scripture.  There are difficult situations in people’s lives that pastors are called to walk through with them.  There are specific applications of how we love our neighborhood, like do we help this person with their rent?  And who am I in all of this; what does it mean to be a pastor? 

In the messiness, poetry gives space.  Space to be.  Space to live with the ambiguity.  Space to question and wonder and enjoy something beautiful.  In her book about being good stewards of language, Caring for Words in a Culture of Lies, Marilyn Chandler McEntyre says, “poetry can teach us specific skills that we need now more than ever to cultivate if we are to retain a capacity for subtlety” (pg. 159). 
Good poetry doesn’t try to give all the answers and tie everything up into neat bows.  It isn’t full of platitudes.  I appreciate that because it is honest and authentic.  That's the kind of person I want to be, too—someone who can hold up to the pressure of the ambiguities in my own life and others lives.  I don’t think that it is a coincidence that one of my favorite books of the Bible is Psalms, a book full of poems.  In the psalms I find that same sort of honesty and authenticity as in other poetry.  The psalmist doesn’t usually sugarcoat things.  If he (or possibly she) is angry at God or feels wronged by God, he says so directly.  The psalms don’t always wrap everything up neatly, although they almost always end with a statement of trust in God.  The psalms, and other poems, give space to live with the ambiguity that comes from living in a broken world.  Poems can also point us towards  the hope that we have in Christ, that things are ultimately secure, even if they appear to be falling apart. 

I’m going to keep reading poetry, to keep finding that space and keep honing my skill with language.  I’ll keep sharing some of my favorite poems here, as I’ve done in the past.  The poets I have read the most in the past couple of years (in addition to the Psalms) are Scott Cairns, Mary Oliver, Robert Frost, and Luci Shaw.  The Poetry of Robert Frost is on my bed stand right now, so perhaps he’ll show up here next. 

Photo by Liesbeth den Toom, used under a Creative Commons License.

Post at Fidelia’s Sisters (and other ways to read my posts)

1. Today you can read my writing at Fidelia’s Sisters, a publication of The Young Clergywomen Project, about learning to camp alone.  I remember finding this website while I was still in China but planning to start seminary a few months later.  I was searching the internet for information about clergywomen, because my personal experiences with them were few and far between.  That was within TYCWP’s first year and I was thankful to find out "I’m not the only one” through Fidelia’s Sisters.  Now that I’m ordained, I’m a member of the group and I have learned a lot from interacting with young clergywomen from many traditions—I don’t always agree with everything—but the breadth of Christian tradition has been a blessing.  I’m excited to have my writing join the story there!  And welcome if you have come over from there!
2. Lots of you follow this blog via my links on Facebook.  If you want to be sure to not miss any posts (either because I forget to post the link or because it is possible to miss things on Facebook), you can subscribe via e-mail and you’ll get an e-mail when new posts go up.  Find the “Follow by E-mail” box in the right-hand column and enter your e-mail in that box.  Or, if you follow lots of blogs you can use a blog reader, which collects all the new posts of blogs you read in one place.  I use Feedly, but have also heard good things about Bloglovin’.  I am a recent convert to using a reader, and can’t believe I waited so long—it makes it so easy!  Thanks for reading!

Personal photo of camping at Ionia State Recreation Area, September 2012. 

Sunday Afternoon Prayer: He Didn’t Know Where He Was Going

 

 

“By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going.  By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise.  For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God.  And by faith even Sarah, who was past childbearing age, was enabled to bear children because she considered him faithful who had made the promise.  And so from this one man, and he as good as dead, came descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as countless as the sand on the seashore” (Hebrews 11:8-12).

 

 

 

God of Abraham,

You called Abraham to a place, but you didn’t tell him where it was.

You asked him to make a leap of faith, to trust that you were faithful and had a plan.

You made crazy promises (descendants to an infertile couple?) to Abraham,

and you kept your promises.

 

Promise-keeping God,

I’m really holding on to the fact that you are faithful, because things look pretty confusing right now.

I’m trusting that you have called me to a place, but haven’t told me where it is yet.

I’m packing my boxes, trying to figure out what I’ll need if the waiting lasts 2 months, and what I’ll need if its 4 more months, or 6 months,

trusting that you have a plan for all of this.

 

Faithful God,

Give me the faith of Abraham, the faith to trust you to guide me to a place,

Give me the trust of Abraham to make my home in a temporary place,

Give me the patience to wait to see how you’ll work,

because I “consider him faithful who had made the promise.”

Amen.

 

Photo by Joana Bourne, used under a Creative Commons License.

Sunday Afternoon Prayer: We Are Your Children

Today’s prayer also comes from An African Prayer Book.  It is a prayer from our brothers and sisters of the the Anglican Church of the Province of Southern Africa.  It is a wide-ranging prayer that covers many topics, and I am going to use an adapted version of it in a worship service I am leading tonight.  I am looking forward to leading Christian Reformed folks in Michigan in prayer using words from the Anglican Church in Africa.
Father, we are your children, your Spirit lives in us and we are in your Spirit: hear us, for it is your Spirit who speaks through us as we pray.
Lord hear us.
Father, you created the heavens and the earth: bless the produce of our land and the works of our hands.
Lord hear us.
Father, you created us in your own image: teach us to honor you in all your children.
Lord hear us.
Father, in your steadfast love you provide for your creation: grant good rains for our crops.
Lord hear us.
Father, you inspired the prophets of old: grant that your Church may faithfully proclaim your truth to the world.
Lord hear us.
Father, you sent your Son into the world: reveal him to others through his life in us.
Lord hear us.
Lord Jesus, you sent your apostles to make disciples of all nations: bless the bishops of this province, especially N our bishop, together with N our metropolitan, and all ministers of your Church.
Christ hear us.
Lord Jesus, for your sake men and women forsook all and followed you: call many to serve you in religious communities and in the ordained ministry of your Church.
Christ hear us.
Lord Jesus, you called your disciples to take up the cross: deepen in us a sense of vocation.
Christ hear us.
You prayed for your Church to be one: unite all Christians that the world may believe.
Christ hear us.
You forgave the thief on the cross: bring us all to penitence and reconciliation.
Christ hear us.
You broke down the walls that divide us: bring the people of this world to live in peace and concord.
Christ hear us.
You taught us through Paul, your apostle, to pray for kings and rulers: bless and guide all who are in authority.
Christ hear us.
You were rich yet for our sake became poor: move those who have wealth to share generously with those who are poor.
Christ hear us.
You sat among the learned, listening and asking them questions: inspire all who teach and all who learn.
Christ hear us.
You cured by your healing touch and word: heal the sick and bless those who minister to them.
Christ hear us.
You were unjustly condemned by Pontius Pilate: strengthen our brothers and sisters who are suffering injustice and persecution.
Christ hear us.
You lived as an exile in Egypt: protect and comfort all refugees.
Christ hear us.
You knew the love and care of an earthly home: be with migrant workers and protect their families.
Christ hear us.
You open and none can shut: open the gates of your kingdom to those who have died without hearing your gospel.
Christ hear us.
You have been glorified in the lives of innumerable saints: give us strength through their prayers to follow in their footsteps.
Christ hear us.
Father we know that you are good and that you hear those who call upon you: give to us and to all people what is best for us, that we may glorify you through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord, who is alive and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.
Amen.


From “An Anglican Prayer Book 1989, Church of the Province of Southern Africa” in An African Prayer Book, Selected and with Introductions by Desmond Tutu, Image/Doubleday New York, 1995.
 
Photo of an Anglican pastor in Liongwe, Malawi by khym54, used under a Creative Commons License.

Everything That Rises Must Converge

Two years ago this week, I started working at Church of the Servant.  I had just graduated from seminary a few months earlier and it was my first pastoral call.  I was nervous.  I wasn’t completely sure I would actually like being a pastor full-time.  And I wasn’t exactly sure what it meant that I was now a pastor.

Throughout seminary, I felt torn.  Before I went to seminary I taught English in China.  That had been an interest of mine since I was in high school.  I went to college with that in mind.  I was an English major and Chinese minor.  And I loved teaching English.  If I had chosen my life’s path I would have gotten an MA in TESOL (teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages).  Instead, God called me to seminary, to the world to theology, Biblical languages and studies, church history, and pastoral care.  And there were lots of moments that I felt lost and out of place.  I would hear people talking outside of class and have no idea who or what they were talking about.  I grew to enjoy seminary and had wonderful internships.  But I still felt like I had two parts.  I had the English teacher part of me and the pastor/seminarian part of me.  And they didn’t go together.

Then I started at COS where I became the primary pastor for the Basic English Service.  As I prepared sermons, I needed the skills I learned teaching English of explaining abstract or difficult concepts with simple words.  I needed the skills I learned in seminary of how to read a Biblical text well and understand what it is saying.  I needed the skill of speaking slowly naturally and articulating words carefully.  I needed the systematic theology I learned to help explain what Christians believe.  I needed all of the cross-cultural skills that I had developed.  I needed to know how to structure a sermon effectively. 
  
In this call, the English teacher part of me and the pastor part of me started to come together.  The threads of my life started to get pulled together into one strand instead of being separate.  My spiritual director shared a phrase with me, the title of a Flannery O’Connor short story, “everything that rises must converge.”  This has been true for me in the last two years.  Everything that had risen in my life converged, and I am so grateful.
I am grateful for the opportunity to preach in this unusual environment and the ways that it has shaped my preaching.  Preaching regularly to a community has helped me form a rhythm of sermon preparation and become comfortable with preaching.  It is still always a little nerve-wracking somewhere in the process, but it also feels like this is what I do, because I am a pastor now.  And preaching in this unique service helped me to hone in on being clear and having one point in mind.  It helped me to think through what is most important in the given passage and leave lots of interesting but not essential information in the study.  It was a privilege to preach to many people that were hearing the story of the Bible for the first time, and I hope that I keep that in mind even if I am in a church where they are a lower percentage of the congregation.

I am grateful for the opportunity to work with the wonderful staff at COS.  They respected me as a colleague, encouraged me when things were difficult, modeled practices of Christian ministry, and loved me.  I learned a lot from spending time with them in the church kitchen and work room, listening in to conversations about the budget, handling pastoral situations, and picking curriculum for kids.  The high rate of turnover with residents is hard for the staff because they get attached to us and then two years are over and we leave, so I am especially thankful that they took the time to get to know me and allow me to learn so much.
I am grateful for the many cups of chai (both Nepalese and Sri Lankan versions) I drank in people’s homes.  I was welcomed into people’s homes with such gracious hospitality.  I don’t think I was ever told I couldn’t come, and it was a rare day when I wasn’t offered chai, or juice, or fruit.  Americans (and I am not an exception) are not that good at being hospitable to strangers.  I hope that I will be able to share some of the hospitality I received with others.  It was a privilege to be welcomed in to homes, to hear the stories of people in my congregation (most of whom were refugees), and walk alongside them in life.  I am thankful for their love and their prayers.
 
I am grateful for the strong volunteer base at COS.  Every program I worked with had strong volunteer leaders—people who dedicate hours of their time and energy to serving the church and community.  I’ll admit, sometimes this was frustrating and sometimes those leaders were frustrated with me.  But I am thankful for the relationships that formed and that we ended on a good note.  I feel at peace that even relationships that were sometimes tense ended well, and I am so thankful. 

I am grateful that many of my experiences, gifts, and interests have risen in my life and converged together in becoming a pastor.  In these two years, I became a pastor in an important way.  I am not wondering if I can do it anymore.  I am not trying to imagine how I would face pastoral situations the way I was two years ago.  Although my time being a pastor at COS has come to an end, and I don’t know where I will be called next, I am a pastor now.  I look forward to the (yet-to-be-determined) day when I start my next call, when I can take all I learned at COS and be a pastor in a new congregation. 

Everything that rises has converged.  Thanks be to God!